John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion Edited by R. K. R. Thornton & Anne Tibble |
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TO THE MEMORY OF BLOOMFIELD |
 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
397
TO THE MEMORY OF BLOOMFIELD
Some feed on living fame with consious pride
& in that gay ship popularity
They stem with painted oars the hollow tide
Proud of the buzz which flatterys aids supply
Joined with to days sun gilded butterfly
The breed of fashion haughtily they ride
As though her breath were immortality
Which is but bladder puffs of common air
Or water bubbles that are blown to die
Let not their fancys think tis muses fare
While feeding on the publics gross supply
Times wave rolls on—mortality must share
A mortals fate & many a fame shall lie
A dead wreck on the shore of dark posterity
& in that gay ship popularity
They stem with painted oars the hollow tide
Proud of the buzz which flatterys aids supply
Joined with to days sun gilded butterfly
The breed of fashion haughtily they ride
As though her breath were immortality
Which is but bladder puffs of common air
Or water bubbles that are blown to die
Let not their fancys think tis muses fare
While feeding on the publics gross supply
Times wave rolls on—mortality must share
A mortals fate & many a fame shall lie
A dead wreck on the shore of dark posterity
Sweet unassuming minstrel not to thee
The dazzling fashions of the day belong
Natures wild pictures field & cloud & tree
& quiet brooks far distant from the throng
In murmurs tender as the toiling bee
Make the sweet music of thy gentle song
Well nature owns thee let the crowd pass by
The tide of fashion is a stream too strong
For pastoral brooks that gently flow & sing
But nature is their source & earth & sky
Their annual offerings to her current bring
Thy gentle muse & memory need no sigh
For thine shall murmur on to many a spring
When their proud streams are summer bur[n]t & dry
The dazzling fashions of the day belong
Natures wild pictures field & cloud & tree
& quiet brooks far distant from the throng
In murmurs tender as the toiling bee
Make the sweet music of thy gentle song
Well nature owns thee let the crowd pass by
The tide of fashion is a stream too strong
For pastoral brooks that gently flow & sing
But nature is their source & earth & sky
Their annual offerings to her current bring
Thy gentle muse & memory need no sigh
For thine shall murmur on to many a spring
When their proud streams are summer bur[n]t & dry
398
The shepherd musing oer his summer dreams
The mayday wild flowers in the meadow grass
The sunshine sparkling in the valley streams
The singing ploughman & hay making lass—
These live the summer of thy rural themes
Thy green memorials these & they surpass
The cobweb praise of fashion—every may
Shall find a native “Giles” beside his plough
Joining the skylarks song at early day
& summer rustling in the ripening corn
Shall meet thy rustic loves as sweet as now
Offering to Marys lips the “brimming horn”
& seasons round thy humble grave shall be
Fond lingering pilgrims to remember thee
The mayday wild flowers in the meadow grass
The sunshine sparkling in the valley streams
The singing ploughman & hay making lass—
These live the summer of thy rural themes
Thy green memorials these & they surpass
The cobweb praise of fashion—every may
Shall find a native “Giles” beside his plough
Joining the skylarks song at early day
& summer rustling in the ripening corn
Shall meet thy rustic loves as sweet as now
Offering to Marys lips the “brimming horn”
& seasons round thy humble grave shall be
Fond lingering pilgrims to remember thee
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |